Wednesday, December 15, 2010

I shall forget you presently, my dear,So make the most of this, your little day,Your little month, your little half a year,Ere I forget, or die, or move away,And we are done forever; by and byI shall forget you, as I said, but now,If you entreat me with your loveliest lieI will protest you with my favorite vow.I would indeed that love were longer-lived,And vows were not so brittle as they are,But so it is, and nature has contrivedTo struggle on without a break thus far,Whether or not we find what we are seekingIs idle, biologically speaking.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Friday, September 10, 2010

When reeds are dead and straw to thatch the marshes,And feathered pampas-grass rides into the windLike Agèd warriors westward, tragic, thinnedOf half their tribe; an over the flattened rushes,Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,--Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushesMy heart. I know that beauty must ail and die,And will be born again, --but ah, to seeBeauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!Oh, Autumn! Autumn! --What is the Spring to me?